


life between contractions

by plalligator



Series: happier with half of you [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Banter, Coda, F/M, Men Crying, POV Outsider, Relationship Reveal, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plalligator/pseuds/plalligator
Summary: Something was terribly wrong with Brigadier General Mustang.





	life between contractions

**Author's Note:**

> bet you thought you'd seen the last of me
> 
> this is a direct sequel to "in the mess it's made of us" and probably will not make sense unless you've read that first! i actually wanted to include this scene in the main fic, but it didn't really fit the tone of the last chapter so here it is five months later. enjoy!

**October 1917**

Heymans sat at his desk and watched with trepidation as the clock ticked closer and closer to eight hundred hours.

“What do you think?” whispered Fuery, his eyes on the outer door to the office. “The same today?”

“I hope he’s back to normal,” said Havoc fervently. “It’s freaking me out.”

Heymans couldn’t help but agree. It was an accepted truth in the military that the commanding officer shaped the squad, for better or worse. If the commanding officer was out of balance, the squad would be too.

Plus, it was giving everyone the creeps.

Still, maybe it had blown over, and everything would be back to normal today.

The second hand crested the twelve on the clock face and moved beyond it, and as soon as it did, the door swung open and the Brigadier General strode in, _whistling._

 _Damn,_ thought Heymans with feeling, exchanging a despairing glance with Falman.

“Morning, gentleman!” Brigadier General Mustang called out brightly as they all rose and saluted. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Heymans felt his gaze slide around to Havoc and they exchanged disbelieving glances. It was a chilly autumn morning, grey and damp. _Nobody_ called this weather beautiful, least of all Roy Mustang, who could be relied upon to bitch nonstop at the mere _suggestion_ of rain.

No doubt about it, something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

“Morning, Hawkeye,” continued the Brigadier General, sweeping up to Captain Hawkeye’s desk.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, polite and professional as usual. “And may I commend another day of timeliness on your part.”

“You may, Hawkeye, thank you,” said Brigadier General Mustang. “I find it makes an enormous difference to have have some sort of motivation, you know, a real driving reason to get in here bright and early.”

“Is that so,” said Captain Hawkeye, her inflection making it more of a statement than a question. “Well, whatever your motivation is, you’d better keep hold of it. There’s a lot of work to do.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” said the Brigadier General, beaming. “So we better get started, huh? I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

And with that he disappeared into the inner office. As a group, they all gave a sigh of relief and sat.

“Did you see that grin?” asked Havoc. “Made me want to run for the damn hills.” He shivered. “It’s not right.”

“Do you think it’s some kind of trick?” asked Fuery nervously, pushing up his glasses. “Is he testing us?”

“I mean I would have said it was a girl,” put in Heymans, “but, well…” He shrugged, encompassing the fact that while Mustang flirted like breathing, most of his “dates” were intel-gathering missions and none of them had ever known their commander to go steady with anyone.

“I find myself wondering about Captain Hawkeye,” said Falman. “If she is as confused as we are.”

Heymans wondered too. With the Captain’s poker face, it could be the devil to tell.

There was a pause while they all tried not to be too obviously craning their necks at Hawkeye’s desk.

“Nah, she must know,” said Havoc. “She’s only been his right hand since forever.”

“How long exactly?” wondered Falman. “All I know is she already had this post when I got mine.”

“Same for me,” said Havoc. “Must be at least before Ishbal, right?”

Heymans took a guess at the Captain’s age and did some quick mental math.

“Can’t be,” he said slowly. “There’s no way she was more than a cadet during the war. Anyway, he wasn’t doing any _real_ command back then, he was only major rank cause of the State Alchemist title.”

“Well, damn, you’re right,” said Havoc, scratching his head. “I never thought about it before.”

Heymans supposed none of them ever had. When he thought about it, he couldn’t get further than the impression that Captain Hawkeye had sprung from the womb fully formed and sporting officer’s bars.

As they watched, she gathered up some papers and straightened them into a neat pile, then rose and slid unobtrusively into the Brigadier General’s office, the door clicking quietly shut behind her.

“She _has_ to know,” said Havoc again, more firmly. “Or even if she doesn’t, she’ll probably know what to do about it.”

::

It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but at this point he had been like this for a good month, ever since Fullmetal’s wedding. Now, they’d all been in a celebratory mood that weekend. It had been a happy occasion for sure, and Fullmetal and his new wife made a cute couple. But that didn’t account for the way the brigadier general’s mood had remained...uncharacteristically buoyant for the next few days and then weeks, even in the face of bureaucratic annoyances and slogging hard work that characterized their days now.

He got into the office at eight hundred hours on the dot now. He did all his paperwork with no complaints. He paid for a round of drinks for the team at a nearby bar without even being asked. He willingly took Black Hayate on walks. He cracked jokes with the junior officers. He _whistled_.

After the first three days it even managed to shake Havoc, who had been in a daze ever since Rebecca Catalina had agreed to dance with him at the wedding.

It was, in short, too much. For the good of the team, something had to be done.

::

“Hey sir, you got a moment?” asked Heymans, approaching Captain Hawkeye after lunch. Technically, they had drawn for it and Fuery had gotten the short straw, but Fuery was so scared of Hawkeye that it just wasn’t fair to the kid.

“Of course,” said Captain Hawkeye. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

Heymans jerked his head back towards the bullpen where the men waited, and Captain Hawkeye followed him over somewhat quizzically. Heymans cast a cautious look at the closed inner door and lowered his voice.

“What the hell is up with the Brigadier General?” he asked bluntly, not bothering to mince words.

She blinked at him for a moment, then her mouth thinned abruptly, lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t answer immediately.

 _Oh shit,_ thought Heymans. _Did I make her mad?_

But then she spoke, and she didn’t seem mad.

“Ah,” she said. “That.” Another one of those lip presses, the corners of her mouth twitching oddly. “Yes, I can see how it might be...disconcerting. It’s true he’s gotten...a bit carried away. You all must be very confused.”

None of which was precisely an answer, Heymans noted dryly, and was opening his mouth to point this out when all his worst fears came true and the inner door opened and Brigadier General Mustang came out.

“What’s happening here?” he called out at the sight of them all standing in a knot together. He ambled over, hands in pockets. “Are you lazy bastards bothering the captain?”

_Shit, shit, shit._

There was a squeak from behind him. Fuery. Falman, next to him, was doing some kind of frantic hand gestures which were presumably meant to communicate to the captain not to spill the beans.

Clearly it didn’t work, because she turned to Mustang and said: “The men were wondering about your _unusual behavior,_ actually. Sir.” She punctuated the last word with some kind of meaningful stare that Heymans couldn’t interpret.

To his surprise, Mustang’s eyes lit up and his face was split with a sudden gleeful smile.

“Is that _so?_ ” he said, with barely suppressed amusement. For some inexplicable reason, he clearly found the situation hysterical. “And what exactly is it they were wondering?”

“Sir,” said Hawkeye, leveling a stern look at him, and something in her tone must have made him take notice, because the smile dropped from his face and he turned to look at her. She looked back, and a few deeply uncomfortable seconds passed with them just...staring at each other.

Mustang had drawn his hands out of his pockets, absently fiddling with something on his middle finger. A ring, Heymans realized, a gold band with a flat black stone. Had he always worn that?

“You think that’s a good idea?” he asked finally, still speaking to Hawkeye. Hawkeye just gave a minute nod. “Well, I bow to your judgement as always.”

Mustang turned back to them.

“You’d better come into the office,” he said, and turned to lead the way, Hawkeye falling seamlessly into step behind him. More confused than ever, it took Heymans and the others a beat to follow. Havoc caught his eye and mouthed “What’s happening?” but Heymans could only shrug in confusion. _He_ had no idea.

When the door had shut behind them, Mustang sat down behind his desk, Hawkeye slipping into position behind his right shoulder. He leaned back casually and steepled his fingers.

“I won’t beat about the bush,” he said in a bored tone of voice. “The truth is, Captain Hawkeye and I have been married for the last fourteen years. It began as a platonic arrangement, but we always had feelings for each other, and recent events encouraged us to finally act on them.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Havoc broke it by laughing. Fuery and Falman followed, and Breda couldn’t help but chuckle too as he waited for the Brigadier General to tell them what was really going on.

No explanation came. Mustang just sat there smiling a strange half-smile.

The laughter died out.

“Wait,” said Heymans uneasily, looking at Hawkeye. Hawkeye didn’t put up with bullshit. If _she_ wasn’t denying it…

“We don’t have a certificate,” she said. “It was just recorded in the village register. But yes, as of April 7th, 1903.”

Mustang swivelled in his chair to look up at her, brow furrowed.

“I thought it was the ninth,” he said.

“No, the ninth is when you started at the academy,” she said patiently, in the exact same tone of gentle correction she always used on Mustang.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” he said.

“Mm.”

Heymans’ brain seemed to process this exchange at a glacial rate. When it sank in, however, it was _extremely_ telling.

“Uh,” said Havoc, as his cigarette fell out of his open mouth. Fuery was polishing his glasses frantically like it would somehow bring enlightenment. Falman stood there with his face screwed up, staring somewhere into the middle distance. Heymans could only imagine what they were thinking. His own brain was running a slow scroll of memories, small things he had noticed but written off. Mustang bringing Hawkeye tea in the afternoon. Hawkeye helping Mustang home after a night of drinking. That time he went to borrow a newspaper when they were in Resembool for Fullmetal’s wedding and they were _sitting next to each other in bed..._

“The ring,” he said out loud. Mustang lifted his hand to show the black and gold ring on his left hand.

“Caught,” he said with a smile.

“Wait a minute,” said Havoc loudly, apparently recovering his mental faculties. “You two left the wedding together! I _saw_ you.”

Mustang turned faintly red.

“Caught again,” he said. Hawkeye’s mouth was pressed shut again, and Heymans realized all of sudden it was because she was trying not to laugh.

“I thought that was because you’re a stick-in-the-mud workaholic who’s incapable of having fun,” cried Havoc. “But you’re telling me that was—” he glanced at Hawkeye fearfully and lowered his voice, hissing “— _a booty call?!_ ”

Heymans realized too late that someone should probably shut Havoc up for his own safety. But then, to his total astonishment, Mustang just went even more red and smiling, smug and pleased.

“Might have been,” he said, with a distinct air of self-satisfaction. Hawkeye had a hand covering her mouth, and her shoulders were shaking.

That apparently did in Havoc, because he gaped a bit but couldn’t seem to get any words to come out.

“Wait,” said Fuery, rescuing the conversation. “Have you...kept it secret all this time? How many other people know?”

“Six,” said Mustang, at the same time Hawkeye said “Seven.” He frowned at her and ticked them off on his fingers.

“Your father, your grandfather, my mother, the mayor, your father’s housekeeper, and Hughes,” he said. “Right?”

“Winry Rockbell,” said Hawkeye. “I said as much to her at the wedding. She may have told Edward as well.”

“I hope not,” said Mustang with annoyance. “I can only imagine what he’d have to say about it.” Hawkeye hit him lightly with the back of her hand. “What?” he cried. “I don’t want to be judged for my life choices by a punk half my age.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” said Hawkeye. “Edward is eighteen. You’re thirty-two. Have you forgotten how to do basic math?”

Heymans felt like he had spent his whole life believing the sky was blue only for someone to point out that it had been green the whole time. The thing was, before today he would have said this kind of banter was just…Mustang and Hawkeye. It was normal.

“But,” said Fuery gamely, leaping back into the conversation, “but why didn’t you tell anybody? It’s been so long...”

Before Mustang or Hawkeye could say anything, Falman finally spoke.

“The fraternization rules,” he said slowly. “Right?”

Mustang’s expression sobered, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he said. “That was...kind of an accident. We got married just before I joined up, and Hawkeye wasn’t planning a career in the military at first.”

“And even during Ishbal, I was a cadet and wasn’t under his command,” explained Hawkeye. “So it wasn’t a breach of regulations.”

“Basically, we were young and stupid and didn’t think things through,” concluded Mustang. “One thing just sort of led to another, and keeping it under wraps seemed like the best option.”

“Damn,” said Heymans, voicing the thought for all of them. That was a hell of a secret to keep when you were in the business of making powerful enemies.

It was also, he realized, a hell of a long time to be living a lie.

Heymans exchanged a glance with Havoc, who scratched his chin contemplatively.

“Hey, sir, you got any booze in here?” he asked finally.

Mustang stared blankly back.

“Uh...there’s some in the sideboard,” he said, gesturing.

Havoc wheeled around and made a beeline for the cabinet.

“Let’s see,” he said, voice muffled as he ducked his head in. “What is this garbage? Creme de menthe, sherry—why do you _have_ this? Aha—here we go!” He backed out of the cabinet, triumphantly brandishing a dusty champagne bottle. Heymans smacked a fist against his palm.

“Cups,” he said. “We need cups. C’mon, Falman.”

Falman made a noise of comprehension.

“Right away, sir,” he said sharply, catching up quickly. “Mess hall?”

“Mess hall,” said Heymans, leading the way. As luck would have it, there was a dishwasher heading out of the kitchen with a tray of freshly washed mugs. “Here, give me that,” he said to the startled young woman, lifting the tray out of her hands.

“Special requisition!” said Falman hastily. “For Brigadier General Mustang’s office. I’ll, err, uh—we’ll get them back to you, don’t worry,” and they were back down the hall and up the stairs, barging back into the office. Havoc was trying to wipe the dust off the bottle with the sleeve of his jacket. Heymans set the tray down and passed a mug each to Falman and Fuery.

“What on earth is going on?” burst out Mustang, looking increasingly annoyed. “Have you all lost your minds?”

“Shut up and take a glass, sir,” said Havoc cheerfully, struggling with the foil on the top of the bottle. He glanced up at Captain Hawkeye. “You too, sir. Oop—” The cork flew off and foam fountained out, some splashing onto the carpet.

While Mustang gaped, Heymans pressed a mug into his unresisting hands and then handed one to a bemused Hawkeye. Havoc was right behind him, pouring them each a generous amount. Heymans held out his own mug and then nodded in thanks as Havoc obliged.

“Okay,” said Havoc, when everyone had been provisioned. “Let’s do this.” He held up his mug. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”

“Cut to the chase,” said Heymans dryly.

“Right,” said Havoc. “Gentlemen. Lady,” he said, nodding to Hawkeye. “I’d like to propose a toast—a very, very, belated toast—to the happy couple. I never thought I’d see Roy Mustang a married man. I suppose if anyone could manage it, it would be Captain Hawkeye. So: to Mr. and Mrs. Hawkeye. Cheers!”

“Cheers,” echoed Heymans, Falman, and Fuery, and they all drank.

When Heymans lowered his mug, Mustang had a look on his face that Heymans had never seen before. Almost shock, but not quite. Wordlessly, Hawkeye reached down to grasp Mustang’s shoulder and he seized on her hand as if it were a lifeline.

“Roy,” she said in a low voice, heavy with emotion, and they all watched as Mustang’s face crumpled like a wrinkled handkerchief.

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Havoc, in the natural panic at having your boss break down in front of you. The mood in the room was abruptly somewhere below the floor, and Heymans was seriously considering leaving, but he wasn’t sure how to do that in a way that would make things _less_ awkward. Poor Fuery looked as if he was going into shock. “Sir, you can’t do that, you aren’t _nearly_ drunk enough to start crying yet.”

Mustang put his hand to to his face and drew in one long ragged breath, letting it out slowly. When he removed his hand, his expression was neutral again; only a slight redness around his eyes betrayed him.

“Right,” he said, his voice mostly steady. “Of course.”

“Thank you all,” said Hawkeye quietly. “I can’t tell you how much this means to us.”

“It’s nothing,” piped up Fuery.

“The least we could do was express our congratulations,” said Falman.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still kind of hate your guts for this,” said Havoc. “You absolute bastard, it should be illegal for you to be this lucky with women.”

“Shut up, Havoc, you’re ruining the moment,” say Heymans, elbowing him. “Seriously, sir,” he said, addressing both Mustang and Hawkeye. “Good for you. Let’s finish this champagne, huh?”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Havoc.

“I should have you all court-martialed for being drunk on the job,” said Mustang, but he was smiling. Heymans looked at Hawkeye’s hand, still on Mustang’s shoulder, and smiled too.

Some things were worth celebrating.

::


End file.
